


Son of Batman

by HK44



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dysphoria, Panic Attacks, Sexual Harassment, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, trans!damian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HK44/pseuds/HK44
Summary: At the end of the day, no matter what anyone else thinks, Damian knows who he is.(Sequel to You're My Brother)





	

**Author's Note:**

> And the companion piece! Beta'd by brilliant DC-appreciative friend, [Metal](http://metaljupiter.tumblr.com), who runs a Batman blog, so y'all should go follow her. :D
> 
> First things first, this fic hit a kinda personal level w/ me (ie. it dredged up a bunch of feelings I'd rather have let lie) so please don’t yell me at me too horribly if you feel I screwed up on character interpretations. I mean, you _can_ yell but like not too harsh okay? I wrote an explanation to my reasoning for writing things the way I did [here](http://happyk44.tumblr.com/post/151420256682/son-of-batman-hk44-batman-all-media-types).
> 
> Trigger warning for dysphoria, transphobia and sexual harassment of a minor.

There were certain parts of his body Damian liked. His voice was one, neutral with dark undertone that made people fear him even if they had no reason to. Hands, tough and built for fighting. He liked his eyes, he supposed. Green. A constant reminder of what he _was_ and what he would be.

He did not like his body, too lithe for his tastes and growing curves where they weren’t necessary, or his jaw, round and soft like a doll. He was too short, looked younger than he was, dainty. As though he was something to be protected rather than someone that could protect himself.

For some reason these features that he detested, apparently made him a good specimen in the eyes of everyone else.

He gaped, speechless for once in his life. There was truly nothing he could say in this instance. An empty silence echoed into his head, as thick as a void and as endless as the ocean.

Finally, he clicked his mouth shut, narrowed his eyes and snarled through clenched teeth, “ _What?_ ”

“It’ll only be for the night,” Father said.

“No,” Damian snapped. “You must be insane if you think I will sentence myself to even a minute of pretending to be a _girl_.”

“It’d only be for a few hours,” Todd said. He flicked a switchblade out and raised an eye. “Not up to the challenge?”

 _Not up to being exposed,_ Damian thought venomously. “It wouldn’t be a challenge _worth my time_.”

“So you’re scared.” His tone was mocking.

The hairs on Damian’s neck bristled. “No.” _Yes._

“It’s okay, babybat,” Todd went on, drawling as he slung an arm around Damian’s shoulders and tugged him tight into his chest. “We won’t let the bad men touch a hair on your precious babybat head.”

“ _Release me or die_ ,” Damian seethed.

A sardonic laugh barked from Todd’s mouth as he withdrew. When he settled his hip against the table, he smirked wryly. “Maybe we shouldn’t let him go play dress up. No one wants a girl _that_ violent.”

“Jason,” Father warned as Damian’s fists tightened. Father closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Damian, I understand-” His palms flattened against the table, spreading out, sliding wide. “-it’s not _ideal_ but it is the best course of acti-”

“Get one of the girls to do it,” Damian bit out, reigning in his anger. His father was smart. It was rare for anything to get by him and Damian’s anger was pressing into a level far beyond what it should have been. A _regular_ boy would be more humiliated that they’d considered him, be more annoyed that _he_ was the one that they’d chosen. The anger would be there, but small and hidden in the outrage.

Damian’s anger was different, was desperate. It was larger, bigger, rolling fat and thick in his chest, choking him, spreading him thin and wearing him out. It was violent in a way that was uncalled for. If he’d been a… _normal_ boy, made correct like he was intended, he’d be reacting in irritation.

So he pulled it in. Even when every cell in his body was pleading against it.

“We would,” Brown said, voice sympathetic. “But according to Bruce, they’re going after _young_ girls, Damian. Small, squishy-faced cuties. None of us would pass. You, on the other hand-” She smirked and settled her chin on her hands. “You’re adorable.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed. Vaguely, he wondered how mad Father would be if he stabbed her.

“I am not _adorable_.”

“You definitely are, babybat,” Todd said, bopping Damian on the nose. Damian resisted the urge to bite him. “Besides, you already look like a girl.”

In the millisecond following Todd’s remark, Damian was aware of several things: the blood that soars to his face, the anger that sings in his skull like a violent lullaby, Drake snapping alert from where he was drooping off to sleep, body still and rigid, eyes wide and watching Damian, and Pennyworth’s grip tightening on the handle of the teapot, tensed in a way that means he’s listening more intently than normal.

None of these things stopped Damian from snapping forward and slamming his palms against the table. “ _I AM NOT A GIRL!”_

Everyone jumped, startled, surprised. “Damian,” Father started, eyes narrowed. Concerned. Confused.

“Fine!” Damian interrupted, an army of panic sieging in his throat. “I’ll do it. But if one more person alludes to my being _feminine_ or _cute_ , I will _end them_.”

He made firm eye contact with all in the room before whisking himself out with a sense of purpose befitting of a male. Because that’s what he was.

Male.

* * *

 

“You don’t have to do it,” Drake said behind him. He was leaning against the doorframe, eyes glancing down the hall. “I can try and find anoth-”

“If Father believes this to be the only course of action logical, then I’ll do it,” Damian interrupted. He fiddled with the edges of his shirt. “Close the door.”

“In or out.”

“Well, given that you’re asking, I assume you have some other nonsense to bother me about.” Drake said nothing, footsteps pattering in as the door eased shut. It snapped close with a solid click. Damian tugged roughly on the edge of his shirt again. “Turn around.”

Before tugging his shirt off over his head, he glanced quickly over his shoulder. Drake faced the wall, legs spread wide, hands brandished behind his head. Damian eased out of his binder, folding it discretely into his fallen shirt before pulling on a tank top with a built in sports bra. Over that, he put a thick and loose shirt, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

He spared a glance at himself in the mirror that hung on the wall.

Lithe. Rounded. Soft.

Girly.

Recoiling away from the reflection, he grabbed his discarded clothing and dumped them into the hamper at the door beside his bathroom. He eyed Drake for a moment before spreading his legs out wide and crossing his arms.

Naturally, a scowl replaced his neutral expression. “What do you want, Drake?”

As he pivoted around on one foot, Drake took a breath, dropping his arms and stretching them out behind him.  “I think you should tell everyone.”

Damian arched an eye. “Excuse me?”

“Damian, they’re not exactly _blind_.” Drake gestured erratically in a circle. “Besides, you’re already halfway through puberty and you haven’t exactly _grown._ All the guys in your family are towering giants. Even if you managed to hide it for the next five, ten years, whatever, someone’s going to wonder why you’re so _small_ , when every other man in your family is huge.”

“I’m still liable for a growth spurt,” Damian growled. His height meant nothing. He was going to get taller. Even if he had to force it somehow, he would get taller.

“Sure,” Drake amended. “You’re right. You can grow. You can become a towering giant like everyone else. But you’re not always going to be able to hide your voice or your curves or literally _anything_ that makes girls different from boys.”

“Look, Drake,” Damian said, taking a careful step forward. “I managed to hide my… issue from _you_ for three years and, despite your _multiple_ downfalls-” Damian let his scowl worsen. “-you’re almost as good as my father when it comes to observation. If you couldn’t spot it, he won’t.”

“I couldn’t spot it because there’s pretty much nothing to spot unless you’re actively looking for it, Damian,” Drake said. He brandished his hands out, fingers spread. “Look, I’m just suggesting it because if you don’t say anything and Bruce finds out years from now, he’s going to be devastated that you couldn’t trust him enough to tell him.” He dipped his head once to the side in afterthought. “And Dick too. And you know, he’s going to be loud about it.”

“Grayson does get very emotional,” Damian agreed. He popped his thumb. “I understand your concern, Drake.” He bit his lip. “And I suppose, I appreciate it-” He rolled his eyes and twisted around, staring out his window. “-but there’s no reason to say anything.”

“Damian-”

“I am not going to admit to my defect, Drake.” Damian snapped, voice wrecking loud in the dim quiet that pulsed around them. He cleared his throat. Quieted himself. Tried to relax the slow simmering rage that was threatening to boil in his veins. “My father has no reason or immediate need to know I’m defective. Admitting so is unnecessary.”

“You’re not defective.”

Damian cut his eyes at Drake. “How would you know? You were never intended to be perfect.” Bitterness seeped out his voice. “I _was_.”

“You’re not defective, Damian,” Drake repeated. “It’s not like you were able to pick the gender you were meant for while you were incubating in a fucking tube or whatever. That’s up to chance, up to fate.” He took a step back, exhaled deeply. “You’re not defective. And I still think you should say _something_ soon.”

“Then why don’t you just tell everyone?” Frustrated, Damian spat the words out. “You want them all to know so bad. Do it yourself.”

“Because while I couldn’t figure out that you were trans for three years, I did manage to realize that you prefer to explain anything involving yourself. If you punched a guy because he was being an asshole, if anyone else explained why you punched him, you’d get pissed, even though it was a small reason.” Gesturing lightly to Damian’s whole being, Drake continued, “You hate it when someone talks about things personal about you and _everything_ about you is personal.”

Damian threw a book at him.

Drake dodged it. “See?” Damian ignored him. “You’re never going to give me verbal or explicit permission to talk about it so I’m not. But-” The door lock clicked, Drake leaning into the door. “-if you do _want_ -” Heavy emphasis licked the word, so deep Damian knew Drake meant _need_. “-my help talking about it, you know I’m here for you.”

Damian huffed. Drake could be annoyingly kind when he chose to be, a fact that _bothered_ Damian to no end, so when he said, “Whatever, Drake”, he meant, _Thank you._

* * *

 

It itched.

It swaddled around his knees and itched.

A dull pink with lacy trim, the dress was nauseating. It had thin straps that curled around his shoulders and a small opening in the back that ended halfway down. The skirt ended just above his knees. Brown had suggested he shave. He suggested that she die. Drake solved the problem with a pair of boots not unlike Damian’s pair for Robin, but black instead of green.

Damian didn’t look at himself when he sat across from his mirror to lace up the boots. He didn’t look at himself when he tucked his hair under the wig cap. He didn’t look at himself, just a passing glance, when he finally left the room.

He didn’t want to see the truth.

Todd whistled low when he walked into the room and there was a pause in the conversation as everyone took him in, gaping like mindless goldfish.

He didn’t like it.

“If this doesn’t work,” he hissed through clenched teeth, letting the threat slide into the air, empty and dangerous.

“Of course, it will,” Grayson chirped behind him. His arm settled on Damian’s shoulders. “You look nice, _Diana_.”

Damian resisted the urge to growl, shrugging out from under Grayson’s arm. He turned to face him. Stopped. Stared.

“What the hell is on your face?”

Grayson twisted the ends of his fake mustache up. “Are you referring to my luxurious facial hair?”

Damian paused, trying to wrap his mind around the notion that Grayson _actually_ thought he’d be decently disguised behind a piece of hair glued to his face. At least, Damian had the decency to cover his with _bangs_. “Father-”

“I already tried, Damian,” Father said. He gestured flatly with one hand. “Once again, Dick, I _strongly_ suggest-”

“Nope.” Grayson took ahold of Damian’s wrist. “It’s happening, Bruce.”

Footsteps followed them to the outside, Grayson dragging Damian along.

“Can you even grow facial hair, Dick?” Todd asked.

“Shut up, Jason.”

Damian rolled his eyes as Todd let out a bark of a laugh.

* * *

 

Somehow Grayson’s “disguise” worked. In fact, Damian was somehow almost mistaken as _himself,_ despite being fully dressed in _makeup_ , a wig and a horrendously sleek _dress_ , and yet Grayson, with only a slab of fake hair plastered below his nose, was practically unrecognizable.

The universe clearly despised Damian and he was beginning to loathe it in turn.

“Let’s get this over with,” Damian snarled under his breath.

A few socialites sent him looks and Grayson laughed dismissively. “Oh, lighten up, darling.” He squeezed Damian’s shoulder. “Let’s have some fun, hmmm?”

“No,” Damian grumbled but he let himself be pulled along.

Under the fluorescent lighting of the ballroom, Damian felt exposed. Men goggled at him. Women giggled and called him adorable. He felt like he was melting and freezing and drowning all at the same time.

He caught sight of himself in the reflection of a punchbowl and frowned for a moment, confused at what he was looking at before realizing it was him. Dolled up and girly. Like he should be.

Like he was _supposed_ to be.

Brown wore sleek dresses to events like these. So did Cain and every other female he associated with. They dressed up, looked pretty and went about their business with ease. Damian didn’t know how they could do that. He had spent less than an hour in a dress and was ready to drown himself or run.

Perhaps it was the panic, slowly creeping up his throat every time someone said, “Oh, what a _pretty_ girl!” and pinched his cheek like he was some kind of chubby hamster.

He swallowed and poured himself a flimsy glass of punch, sniffing it first for alcohol or poisons. A habit he’d yet to quit. Nothing came to light of it.

He drank.

Quenched of thirst and turning around, diving back into the crowd, he glanced around for Grayson, who’d gotten swept up in a storm of single mothers who found his story about losing his wife and having to raise his only daughter alone quite heartbreaking.

Damian was pretty sure that he’d seen it off some soap opera he liked to watch with Todd. Probably one of the episodes that made him cry like a ba-

Was…

 _Was someone touching his butt_?

Damian stiffened. The hand wasn’t grazing him. It was full-on _groping_. Natural instinct to _pummel_ the person kicked in but he swallowed, vaguely remembered he was _undercover_ and shifted away. The hand followed. He glanced around for Grayson, shifting, shifting, and shifting.

The person followed.

Damian shifted more urgently, catching an earful of Grayson’s obnoxious laugh.

The person followed. Someone slid in front of him. Damian backtracked, tried to duck around them. He couldn’t hear Grayson anymore. Just the soaring _thumpa-thump-thump_ of his heartbeat in his ears. Someone pressed up against his back.

“Aren’t you pretty?” they murmured in his ear.

He swallowed. Laughed a nervous and high trill. “Ah, thank you for the compliment.” _I will rip out your fucking spleen, you pathetic excuse for a human being._

“How’s about I show you-” Arm shifting, raising. Fingertips brushed against the small of Damian’s back. A tug. Somewhere a smell. Chloroform. “-something nice outside?”

_No._

Damian blinked.

_No._

They pressed a hand against his inner thigh.

_Time to die._

“ _Diana!_ ” Damian cut his eyes at Grayson, who was pushing through the crowd. The man behind him retreated, hovering. “I’ve been looking for you.” Grayson paused in front of them, did a double take. “Aw, making friends?”

“Yes,” Damian said, slowly. He let go of the man’s wrist and stepped forward delicately. “Just looking for the bathroom, Father.”

“I can show you-”

“I think I saw one over there,” Grayson said loudly, grabbing Damian’s wrist and pulling him into his chest. “You know you shouldn’t wander off, sweetheart.”

“It’s hard to keep up with you, _Father_ ,” Damian muttered.

Grayson laughed, obnoxious and fake, pulling Damian along with him. “So we’ll keep an eye on that guy,” he murmured in Damian’s ear.

Damian made a noise of agreement, leaning into Grayson’s grip. That had been… an experience. One he did not enjoy and did not want to partake in again. He licked his lips and let the women crowd him again. They swooped down on him like hawks.

If they were the hawks, he was the field mouse.

Small. Fragile. Quivering.

Afraid.

Exposed.

Destined to die in that single moment, ripped apart and showing what it was truly made of.

Panic shot to his head and he felt lightheaded.

“Oh, dear, you look faint!” one of them sighed. “Have you had anything to eat?”

“Are you on your monthly?” another one whispered snidely.

“No!” He cleared his throat. Shook his head, laughing. “Ah, just a little warm, ma’ams.”

“Ah, Alfred!” a man called out, pushing his way through the crowd. “This must be the lovely daughter you were talking about.”

“Yes!” Grayson said, slipping an arm around Damian’s shoulders. “This is my daughter, alright. Definitely a girl!”

Damian elbowed him slightly and the man boomed a laugh. “Ah, this is my son, Tony.” He pushed forward a scrawny boy with wiry arms and thin frame glasses. Tony winced, flashing the sight of rubber wrapped braces around his teeth. “Come on, Tony. Ask the nice girl to dance.”

Damian stiffened. Tony coughed awkwardly, reaching out a hand. “Do you… wanna?”

His voice was reedy and awkward. Damian resisted the urge to grimace. “Um… sure.”

He glanced back at Grayson who gave him an awkward thumbs up as Tony led him out to a clearer spot. As they spun around in a slow circle, Damian could see the single mothers, Grayson and Tony’s father watching them eagerly.

“So cute,” one of the mother’s whispered.

“Yeah,” Grayson said. He turned to Tony’s father, diving into a conversation about his work and what he did.

Damian couldn’t focus on it, listening to the women whisper about him. About how cute he looked dancing with Tony. Oh wouldn’t it be adorable if he had _kids_ with Tony. Got married to him. Had such a cute story to tell their pair of twins and a boy.

Panic crawled into Damian’s chest.

“You’re, uh, you’re a really pretty girl,” Tony said.

Damian laughed nervously, turning them the other direction. His whole body felt stiff. He felt sick.

 _Not a girl, not a girl,_ he thought.

“You know, most of the girls I see when my dad makes me come to these things act really fake but you seem to be _real_ , you know,” Tony went on. “Most girls act really fake anyway but you don’t, which is cool. And they always dance better than me but they never lead? Which I never got. I mean usually _girls_ do ballet and stuff so why do I have to lead just because I’m a guy. But you’re really cool because you’re kinda like my sister because you’re leading me just like _she_ does. Which is smart. My sister says I have two left feet.” Tony laughed, the noise whistling from his nose. “Lots of girls tell me that too.”

Damian laughed lightly, twirling out of Tony’s hold. His dress fluttered against his knees. His wig itched. His body itched. His whole being was on fire.

“I, um,” he stumbled. “I need- need to get some air, if- if you don’t mind.”

“Uh, yeah,” Tony said looking a little stunned.

Damian grinned, grit his teeth as he turned away and pretty much _fled_ the room. It was so hot. Suffocating. The air outside felt cool, made it easier to breathe. He keeled over gasping, digging his nails into his palms and stumbling to a secluded area behind a bush.

He squatted, put his head between his knees and _heaved_ breaths inwards. Panic still wormed into his mind like a disease, flooding him. Everything felt faint. He wanted to tear his skin off, tearing his dress off, tear himself to pieces. Want to rip off everything that was _wrong_ about him and be _right._

 _I’m a boy,_ he thought in a fractured voice. _Not a girl_. _Boy. My name. Is Damian Wayne. I am a boy. Boy. Boy. Not a girl. Never a girl. Just a boy._ Thickly, he swallowed a lump swollen in his throat. _Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe You’re not a fucking girl so suck it up and BREATHE.._

“Damian!” Grayson slid up beside him. “Are you okay? That kid didn’t drug you somehow, did he? Was it the other guy? What happened?”

“Shut up!” Damian hissed, shooting up and stumbling away. He tugged angrily on the dress. “I just- I just want to go home.”

“Damian-”

“ _I WANT TO LEAVE!”_ he shouted, recoiling. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “I’m tired. I don’t like this dress. This was a moronic plan and I would like to go _home._ ”

Grayson licked his lips before sighing. “Yeah alright. There’s no child trafficking ring going on in there. Talked to like fifty different people and none of them seemed to get it when I was hinting at “selling” you. That guy that was fucking harassing you just got thrown out for being a party crasher anyway so he’s a dead end.”

He slung an arm around Damian’s shoulders. Once more, Damian swallowed thickly, feeling the lump lessen, and leaned into the hold. Grayson’s body went tense then relaxed. He squeezed Damian’s shoulder.

“Let’s go home.”

* * *

 

Damian stood in the kitchen doorway and cleared his throat.

The people sitting at the table gave him a solitary glance before returning to their food. Cain smiled lowly at him, her eyes focused intensely on his face. After few seconds, they snapped away towards Brown who was offering her an apple slice dipped in syrup.

Damian resisted the urge to grimace. Walking in further but not too far in, he cleared his throat again, louder. The chatter in the room dimmed considerably. In support, Drake nodded once at him from where he was sitting on the counter. Damian ignored him, eyeing all the inhabitants of the room.

 _Getting it over with_ , he thought with dread.  He brandished his arms behind himself, and clasped his left wrist in his right hand. Chin up. Deep breath. Voice steady. “I have something important to say.” He licked his lips slowly. “I am not a girl.”

In front of him, Drake slapped his hand to his face.

“We are _well_ aware of that, Damian,” Father said.

Damian swallowed. “I mean, I am a boy with-” He shook his head, starting over. “I have a problem. No.” He closed his eyes. “It’s not a problem. It’s just a small matter of me-” His eyes opened, taking in the confused looks of the people at the table. “-not being a girl but having-” He swallowed thickly, glancing over at Drake. Damian could not admit to being _defective_ but Drake. Drake could do that. Drake would do that. Willingly. Inclining his head at him, Damian said, “Drake.”

The words “please” and “help” were shoved so deeply into the word it made Damian feel weak. Regardless, Drake sighed as the gazes turned to him.

“Damian’s trans.” Drake gave a vague nod to the side. “Still a boy.”

There was a steady silence buzzing in the air. Grayson closed his eyes, gestured vaguely with his butter knife and reopened them, staring at Damian. “ _What_?”

“I believe the full term is transgender, Master Dick,” Pennyworth said, serving up a plate of waffles for Damian. “Trans male, to be more specific.”

Damian nodded, slight enough that the gesture would be caught amiss in the confusion but still reign grandly towards Pennyworth, who smiled low and began to pour a cup of tea.

“No, I think he understood _that_ , Alfred,” Brown said. She frowned. “How-” She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just- _How?_ ”

Damian squinted at her. What was she asking? “I am a boy, Brown. It is as simple as that.”

“No, yeah, I get that. I do.” Both hands gestured outward, palms inwards and parallel to each other. “I just don’t understand how I never saw it! How any of us-” She began to gesture circularly at everyone at the table. “-saw it.” Annoyed, she pointed at Drake and Pennyworth. “And how the _fuck_ did you two figure it out?”

“I was trained in the art of deception. They figured nothing out on their own,” Damian said, rolling his eyes. “Pennyworth became aware after taking in the results of Father’s DNA test on me and Drake-” He levelled his eyes at Drake. “Drake was nosy.”

Drake cut his eyes at Damian. “I thought you were dying.”

“And if I was, it would still be none of your business,” Damian said, relaxing his arms to his side. Fighting Drake, no matter how mildly, was cathartic in many ways. It let him _breathe_.

“So next time I think you’re dying, I should just let you bleed to death?”

“Exactly,” Damian said patiently, sparing a glance at his father.

His mouth ran dry.

“I don’t believe you,” Todd said. Damian’s eyes snapped over at him, a strange emptiness ballooning within him. He raised an eye. Todd shrugged. “None of us have ever seen you naked. How do _I_ know this isn’t some weird prank?” He shoved a large slab of waffle into his mouth, gesturing at Damian with his fork. “Shlet’s go. Take it goff.”

Brown snorted while Grayson reached around and swatted the back of Todd’s head.

Damian narrowed his eyes. “If you ever request to see me naked again, Todd, I will kill you.” He glanced at his father again then to Pennyworth. “I think I’m going to skip breakfast this morning, Pennyworth.”

“Damian,” Father began.

Damian ignored him and hurried out of the room.

* * *

 

Hours later, Grayson found him perched on the roof. He lingered away aways before awkwardly sitting down beside him. “Hey.” He put a hand over his eyes. “Nice day today.”

Damian tensed, bringing his knees to his chest. “What do you want, Grayson?”

Grayson sighed. “How are you doing?”

Bitterly, Damian snatched up a slick of grass that had been growing in between the slates. “Fine.” He let it blow into the breeze, swallowing uneasily. “What else do you want?”

Grayson sighed, letting his body slump loosely against the tiles. In turn, Damian relaxed slightly. His legs slid and splayed out. He leaned back on his forearms.

Grayson licked his lips. “I’m just curious.”

“About?”

Grayson looked at him. “How do you know?” He sat up, elbow against his knee and hand pressed up against his cheek. “How do you know that you’re a boy?”

“I just do, Grayson,” Damian said dryly. Grayson raised an eye and Damian’s façade weakened. “It’s an innate feeling, _Richard_. There’s no way I can explain it.”

“It didn’t have anything to do with Ra’s?”

Damian blinked. Paused. He glanced at Grayson. “What do you mean?

Sighing, Grayson reached down to grip his ankles, stretching. “Well,” he began, easing back, “you used to talk about being the Ra’s heir to the League, which never made sense given the guy refused to _die_ , but…” He cocked his head to the side, slight. “If he was going to retire or whatever, wouldn’t the League have been passed down to Talia, his _daughter_? The next in line? It just makes you wonder if maybe…” Grayson paused for a moment before sighing and glancing away towards the trees. “It makes me wonder how much of you being trans is actually you and not just you trying to emulate what Ra’s wanted.”

Damian paused. Swallowed. Breathed.

That.

That thought had never occurred to him.

Damian thought over all of Ra’s successors. None of them had been his mother. None of them had been _women_. Ra’s _had_ expressed disappointment every time Damian had expressed a femininity, every time anyone called him a girl. Mother had as well. Every time he’d asked about Father, she’d paused and glanced him over like she wished he was something he wasn’t, like she wished he was more like Father, looked more like Father. Like she wished he was _male_.

They’d both been more than pleased when he’d come out. Overly pleased. As though it was something they’d wanted for the longest while.

Damian stood up.

Grayson jolted a bit. “Damian.”

Damian said nothing, walking to the edge of the roof and somersaulting onto the branches of the nearest tree.

“Wait, Damian!” Grayson shouted, the tiles clacking under his rushing footsteps.

Damian ignored him, dropped to the ground and ran.

* * *

 

“Hello, safehouse. Hello, kitchen. Hello…” The lights flickered on overhead and Todd’s voice trailed off a moment before returning confused and lost. “Damian?” Behind Damian, a bag thunked to the ground. “What are you doing here?”

Damian said nothing, scrunched up into himself as tight as he could manage. He’d snuck into Todd’s place hours ago and had been sitting on his couch, knees to his chest, in the dark, ever since. Thoughts brewed his in head like a storm.

He was dying.

Todd sighed and let the door ease shut behind him. “Okay. This isn’t creepy at all.”

Moment of confusion done and over with, Todd began to settle into his regular routine, easing around Damian as though it was normal to have a thirteen year old boy, girl, boy but girl- a thirteen year old _something_ curled tight  and mute on his couch. He piled leftover takeout onto a plate and watched some inane cartoon before opening up a file of scattered documents and shuffling through a case.

He washed his dishes. He swept the floor. Made plans for the following day. Talked to Grayson on the phone. Swore as he lost yet another round of Candy Crush.

All while acting as though Damian wasn’t there.

It was nice.

But suffocating. It let Damian suffer and stew and _die_. His thoughts were pounding at him, Grayson’s words echoing like a scream. What if he _wasn’t_ a boy? What if it _was_ just his mother’s and his grandfather’s expectations bubbling within him? No. Surely by now, after _three_ _years,_ he would’ve lost the need to be the perfect son. Surely after three years of not being forced into the role of the male heir to the League, he would’ve _stopped_ feeling like this.

But then again, his grandfather’s urging that death, that killing, was the only way to win still whispered in his ears at night, still sidled around his body like a chain. Still pulled him down and _drowned him_.

Who was to say that he was truly male? Who was to say he hadn’t fully shed their _rules_ , their wants and expectations?

Who was to say he really knew himself _at all_?

And that was what terrified him the most. If he didn’t know who he was, then what was he supposed to be? What was he supposed to do? What guidelines was he supposed to follow, what rules?

He closed his eyes and buried his face into the space between his knees and chest as Todd got up and stretched. Footsteps pattered towards his bed and then stopped, the creaking of a door sounding.

“Uh, wake me up before you go, alright?” There was a steady moment of silence. “Damian.” Damian nodded and Todd sighed. “Good night.”

The bedroom door creaked shut.

Damian nestled deeper into himself and dug his nails into his ankles, thinking hard about who he was.

He didn’t know.

* * *

 

Dawn crept in through the blinds. Light hitting his face, Damian blinked vaguely, eyes tired. He’d drifted off enough to feel _mildly_ rested, enough that it wouldn’t weigh down on him later. Still, his body was stiff, kept cramped in the same position for the last ten hours and back aching under the tight pull of his binder.

He hadn’t thought much since about one in the morning. Hadn’t really thought anything since about one in the morning. His thoughts had been alive and buzzing at him but he’d felt so foggy and _stiff_ that, at the time, he couldn’t process any of them if he tried.

But now that he was awake and _slightly_ less exhausted, his thoughts were back, raging at him and screaming.

He closed his eyes, relaxed as best he could and meditated.

An hour later, Todd yawned a greeting as he bumbled out from his bedroom, shirtless. Damian glanced back at him, stared at Todd’s back as he went to work making himself breakfast. His muscles flexed under his skin, shifting. Reaching out, he grabbed the fridge handle and twisted with it as he opened the door, body ending up halfway positioned in Damian’s direction.

Underneath his binder, Damian’s own back ached loudly, a screeching, painful reminder of what he _was_. He swallowed, the feeling dry and painful. The wall was still a faded white when he turned back to it, retreating back into his meditation.

Minutes later, Todd settled down next to him with a plate of toast and a breakfast burrito. For a person who once tried to stab Dick’s hand for stealing a single _Skittle_ , his plate was positioned oddly close to Damian. Todd didn’t say anything about it, folding up the ends of his burrito and eating it, hissing when a slick of oil dripped onto his thigh.

Damian ignored the food for exactly four minutes and seven seconds until his hunger won out and he snagged a piece. Todd ignored it, chewing loudly on his breakfast burrito. Flipping through channels, he settled on a rerun of Project Runway and mocked Gunn through a mouthful of food.

“You’re disgusting,” Damian muttered.

“I know,” Todd said. “I stopped caring.” Leaning against the arm of the couch, Todd shifted then tried to shove his foot into Damian’s face. “Now shut up and watch the show.”

Damian recoiled away from the foot but let it drop into his lap, chewing absentmindedly on the second piece of toast. When Todd was finished his burrito, he scratched his stomach before rolling off the couch onto his face. Then he pushed up, grabbed the plate and walked back over to the kitchen.

The phone rang.

Todd groaned as he fumbled the legs of his underwear, only to realize there were no pockets and his cellphone was on the counter. He snatched it up. While he answered it, he dumped his plate into the sink and turned on the tap. “What do you want, Bruce?” Pushing the plate under the stream of water, Todd peeled a slab of melted cheese off the plate. “Yeah, he’s still here. Good to know you give a shit about one of your kids.” Seconds passed by in silence before-

“What do you mean I have to watch him? What if I had plans?” Todd huffed loudly, offended. “Watching Project Runway reruns does count as a plan, Bruce!” He groaned, turning off the tap. “Yeah, yeah, fine. _Fine!_ I’ll watch him but that’s it! If he tries to jump off a roof or stab himself, I’m letting him bleed out.” Todd snorted, a cabinet door creaking close. “Of course, I’m joking, Bruce. I’d put tarp under him. Blood’s a bitch to clean up. You know that.”

He hung up, threw his phone on the counter and ignored it when it slid off, clattering to the floor. He jumped the couch, plopped down beside Damian with ease. “Your dad’s gonna come pick you up after work.”

A sudden flash of weariness shot through Damian. His eyes fluttered shut and he slumped. “Why?”

“I do not know, kid.”

* * *

 

Father stood in the doorway. His tie had been loosened, shirt collar ruffled from a hard day at work. His eyes were lidded, tired. If Damian played this right, maybe he could use Father’s exhaustion against himself and refrain from being reprimanded.

He knew it was a nonsense, never-happening kind of goal but he was still hoping for it nonetheless.

“Damian,” Father said and Todd all but shoved Damian into Father’s chest.

“Fuck, finally. Take the brat and leave,” Todd muttered. “Spent half the day grilling me about the way I _clean_.”

“You swept your crumbs and dirt into a ball and pulled your couch overtop of it,” Damian snarked.

“I _died_ ,” Todd said like that had any bearing on the topic of conversation. “I don’t have to clean properly. Goodbye!”

He slammed the door in their faces. Behind it, Damian could hear him gripe at nothing. He grit his teeth and readied himself for his inevitable reprimand. Instead, Father sighed deeply, pressed a hand to the small of Damian’s back and guided him to the car.

“Let’s go home, Damian.”

“You’re not going to shout at me?” Damian asked, eyes narrowing.

“You weren’t grounded.” Father unlocked the car, both doors slapping open on the beep. “You’re allowed to visit family and you’re old enough to go places on your own, Damian.” Father settled in at the wheel. After a moment of gripping the steering wheel tight, he let go, slumped back and rubbed his face wearily. Turning to Damian who was still standing outside the car, confused, he said, “Jason told me where you were the moment he found you. There’s no reason for shouting. Now please get in the car.”

Damian slid into the passenger’s seat, wary. “You’re not… angry with me?”

“No.” Father started the car and began backing out of Todd’s crudely made driveway. “However, I _would_ prefer it if next you were to inform me of your comings and goings prior to.”

Damian nodded shortly. “I will keep that in mind, Father.”

“Thank you.”

They were minutes into the ride before the antsy itch of _needing_ to know was swirling in his head. He swallowed dryly. Unlike his grandfather, Father had had multiple _female_ assistants and clearly thought of them in high regard. Naturally, he wouldn’t think less of Damian for… the body he unfortunately held but still…

The look he had on his face flashed through Damian’s head once more and he closed his eyes.

“Father?”

“Yes, Damian?” Father answered, tired, like he already knew where the conversation was leading.

“You’re not… you’re not disappointed in me?” He licked his lips and looked up at Father’s face. “Right?”

“I already knew, Damian.”

Stillness overtook Damian’s body, a sudden and deep-set chill digging into his skin and snapping at his bones. “What?”

Father sighed, making a curve down the road towards the manor. “I trust Alfred a great deal but I had to be completely sure that you _were_ my… child so I verified the results myself. I’ve known for as long as I’ve had you in my care, Damian.”

“Then _why_ would you make me-” It dawned on him like a revelation from the Heavens. His face when Damian had entered into the room in the dress. His face when Drake had _explained_. “Father, how is that child trafficking case going?”

Father grit his teeth and ignored the question.

“Father, how is it going? Father!” He said nothing and Damian gripped his hands into tight fists, a sudden blaze of anger shoving through him like a wildfire. “It didn’t exist, did it? That was why it was so strange when you brought it up. You’d never discussed a child trafficking case before. Not recently anyway.” Father’s hands tightened on the wheel. Damian narrowed his eyes. “ _Well?_ ”

“No, Damian. There wasn’t a case regarding child trafficking, okay? It was a trick.”

“ _Why_?”

“Damian-”

“ _WHY?_ ”

“Because you are _wrong!”_ Father shouted and Damian’s entire body locked up and in that moment only one thing seemed logical to him.

 _Get out of the car_ , he thought, and so he unclasped his seatbelt, opened the door and threw himself out of the car, rolling onto his shoulder. Rock and dirt smashed into him and he pulled up, gasping. Ahead of him, the car screeched to a holt. Fuming, Father exited, the door slamming shut behind him.

“DAMIAN!”

“I AM NOT WRONG!” he shouted, voice torn at the level of volume he was screeching out. Tears welled thick and warm in his eyes. “I KNOW WHAT I AM!”

“You are misguided,” Father said through grit teeth. He took a step forward, frame large and hulking. The sun had dipped low in the sky, casting a shadow long in front of him. Damian took a step back. Father stopped. “Damian, I know your grandfather and his _ideals_. It’s clear that you believe that in order to emit traits from one gender, you have to give up the other.”

“You’re wrong,” Damian snapped.

“Damian, I just wanted you to see that there is nothing _wrong_ with what you are. You’re a girl.”

A ragged breath passed through his mouth. “I am _not_ a _girl_.” He grit his teeth as Father opened his mouth to speak again, slamming his foot down to the ground and heaving forward. “ _I AM NOT A FUCKING GIRL!_ ”

“It’s in your DNA. It’s not something you can change from force of will or just because you _think_ you’re a boy.” Father gestured vaguely in the air. “You and all the people like you think that in order to present masculinely or femininely, you have to _be_ that gender, but you _don’t_.”

“ _I know that,”_ Damian hissed, blinking rapidly. The tears kept falling anyway and the pain in his chest was tight. He wanted to run. He wanted to leave. He wanted to punch Father in the face. He wanted to _go_.

“Look at Stephanie. Look at Cass,” Father continued. “Girls, proud of it and they don’t always conform to what society demands of them. I’m not asking you to dress up in pink or wear makeup. I’m just trying to get you to understand that you are not a boy, and you don’t have to _pretend_ to be one just to act the way you do.”

Damian swallowed thickly and breathed hard through his mouth. The scream he was holding back was tearing at him. Father didn’t understand. Damian _knew_ what he was. How could he have let Grayson make him think he was anything less?

Father didn’t, though.

Father thought he was broken, defective. Father thought he was _misguided_ , like some common villain that needed to be shown the ways of righteousness or locked up in Arkham.

Father.

Father… _didn’t care_.

Damian sighed, the sound wheezing and broken, breathy and dead. Slowly, he walked back to the car, recoiling sharply away when Father reached for him. He slammed the door shut and buckled himself in, bringing his knees to his chest and gazing out the window once Father settled back into his seat.

The car engine gunned.

And they drove off again.

* * *

 

“Good morning, everyone.”

Grayson choked on a piece of toast. “Damian?”

Damian smiled lowly. “It’s _Anya_ , actually.” He swallowed dryly, the name curling sour on his tongue. He didn’t really ever think he’d be using it again. “It’s my _real_ name.”

Father cleared his throat. “Damian.”

“Anya,” he corrected, hopping up onto his chair.

Father’s eyes fluttered shut. “ _Anya_.” They opened up again, boring right into Damian’s face. He smiled even brighter. “I take it you’re still upset about our fight yesterday.”

“No, no, Father, you were quite right.” Damian accepted his tea from Pennyworth, taking a delicate sip from the cup. Everything felt numb. “I am a girl. My previous manner of thinking doesn’t alter that.” Damian set the cup back down, felt his fingers shake.

“Bruce, you’re great and I appreciate all you’ve done for us, but like, come on,” Brown said from the doorway a few minutes later. “Please _stop_.”

“It’s Damian,” Grayson pointed out through a mouthful of crackers.

“Anya,” Damian corrected as Brown shot forward and whirled on him.

She stared at him for a second before turning to Bruce. “What the _hell_ did you do?”

Father closed his eyes again, dropping his face to his hands and pinching the bridge of his nose. Damian squeezed his eyes shut. There was something very dull about his voice when he said, “Father didn’t do anything, Stephanie. He just explained my situation and I realized I was going about it the wrong way.”

Brown gaped at him for a long while before asking, “Did you just call me _Stephanie_?”

“Yes!” Damian said brightly but the tone fell flat. He shook his head, eyes fluttering shut as he explained. “You see, _men_ call each other by their last names as an aggressive tactic to limit familiarity. Girls don’t, and seeing as I understand now that I am completely…” A pain stumbled up his chest. “… _female_ , I might as well stop embracing that.”

Brown kept staring at him, lost and confused. He smiled grimly at her. She turned on Father, hissing whispers at him that Damian’s numb mind filtered away. He didn’t want to hear it.

Beside him, Grayson shifted. “Damian-” he started.

“Anya,” Damian corrected, the dullness still present in his voice.

“Right.” Grayson licked his lips and sighed. “Um, I didn’t- I mean, I didn’t help… _cause_ this, did I? With my thing about Ra’s?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice.

Damian shook his head. He wondered if experiencing loss of feeling was normal during puberty. He doubted it. “No.” He meant to say something else, assure Grayson, assure all of them, that he knew what he was doing and he’d come to terms with the fact that he was a girl but the words wouldn’t come out. They stayed stuck, lodged in his throat.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if he’d choke on them later. If the words would slice open his throat, leave him to bleed out.

A blank part of him kinda hoped so.

Grayson nodded once, eyes still shaded with concern. Worry. “Okay.”

In front of him, Brown, jaw set tight, had clearly stopped grilling Father about whatever it was she saw to be concerned about. Looking mildly annoyed, Father stood slowly. “I think I’ll be heading out early today,” he said, stepping away from the table and folding up his newspaper.

Before he left, hovering just on the inside of the doorway, he turned to Damian who was watching him eagerly and smiled lightly. “It’s nice to see you, Anya.”

Damian slightly wondered if intense pain was also common in puberty. He doubted it but he wasn’t going to ask. “Have a nice day, Father.”

Father nodded once, a short inclination of his head, and left. An emptiness showered over Damian’s body, filling him with a vague numbness he couldn’t quite remember feeling before. It hurt in a way he didn’t understand.

His eyes fell.

How could being numb hurt?

“Da-” Brown stopped when he looked at her. Cleared her throat. “ _Anya_ , you know Bruce will understand that you’re a boy. You don’t have to do this.”

Damian frowned. “I’m fine, Stephanie. I’m aware of what I’m doing.” He swallowed, the feeling harsh against the lump growing in his throat. “I don’t mind it.” That probably wasn’t the correct choice of phrasing, a slight indication that maybe this wasn’t what he wanted. Judging from Brown’s look, that’s what she was taking from it.

But in the end she nodded, sat down and accepted her cereal from Pennyworth without another word.

 _This is what Father asked for_ , Damian thought. He bit his lip _hard_ , heat beginning to well at the back of his head. _This is what he wants_.

It wasn’t what Damian wanted though, but he was beginning to get used to not getting what he wanted. He wanted Drake out of his life. He wanted to be the only son- daughter- _child_ of Bruce Wayne. He wanted Bruce to accept him.

He wanted to feel real but, if he was being honest, he hadn’t felt real in years.

More like a dream.

He closed his eyes and dug his nails into his skin, blinking one eye open and sagging slightly when everything was the same. No. He was still a girl, in the kitchen, doing what someone he _admired_ and _respected_ wanted.

He swallowed thickly. Damian had been through worse things than this. He could survive being… _a girl_ for the foreseeable future.

Of course he could.

He was _Anya_ Wayne.

Daughter of Batman.

* * *

 

 _Anya_ stuck around for a while. Damian supposed it was lucky that for once there was no important galas or parties for Father to attend. It would be hard to explain Damian’s sudden change back into what he was always _meant_ to be.

Anya acted good. She was perfect. Moody at times, like Damian used to be but softer and nicer like girls were conditioned to be. She painted her nails a dull blue, let Brown teach her how to apply makeup and attended a ballet class with Cain.

She was good.

She was a girl.

Damian hated it.

He wanted to rip his skin off. He wanted to cut his hair off, shear it off, rip it off. But Father seemed to like _Anya_ so he swallowed his feelings and smiled softly. They all still stumbled over his name and his pronouns but they were accepting him.

Which Damian felt conflicted about. Would they have changed so easily for him had he arrived there as a girl and transitioned afterwards? Or were they trying so hard because they thought it was something he wanted?

Drake was the only one not playing along. He _refused_ to call Damian Anya. He refused to call Damian a girl.

It would be _nice_ if Damian wasn’t actively trying to change who he was. He still went tense every time someone called him girl in passing. Still went seized up and felt panic crawl into his chest. Still wanted to scream out that he was a _boy_.

But he fought it down. Ignored it. Like he ignored the emptiness that pooled around his chest and the strange numbness that was beginning to drown him quietly. It was odd, the drowning sensation. He had drowned before, during a test back when he was with the League. Grandfather had wanted to see how long he could hold his breath, wanted to train it up and past eleven minutes so that Damian could be better than those before him.

He’d failed that test.

Inhaled after a good minute and a half.

Water had flooded him. Took his lungs over and pulled him down. He’d survived, _obviously_. Divers had gone down and grabbed him the moment he’d stopped moving, rescued him so quickly the use of the Pit wasn’t even necessary but he remembered _vividly_ what it was like to drown.

So he knew, with completely certainty, that he was drowning now. But unlike before, inhaling wasn’t a danger. He could do that without fear. It was the invisible weight crushing over him, spreading all over his body and pushing. It was the emptiness in his chest, so familiar to the way it’d felt to lose breath. It was coldness of the world every time someone uttered his name.

It was the feeling of his skin when he moved, a watery veil between him and everything else.

But he ignored it. Pretended it wasn’t there.

Because he was Anya now. And Anya was a quiet, pretty girl who liked fighting by Batman’s side and defeating bad guys.

He groaned and buried his face into Titus’ fur. The dog in question rolled onto his side, wining low and licking Damian’s face.

Damian snorted. “Good dog,” he murmured, patting Titus’s side, before rolling over onto his back.

Titus was warm against his neck. Relaxing into it, Damian propped his book on his stomach, eyes flittering across the pages but not taking anything in even as he flipped slowly through the book.

They were in a secluded corner of the Batcave, behind a couple boxes of Drake’s things. It was quiet, everyone else out doing something they deemed important. Even Pennyworth was gone, shopping and dropping off his feline counterpart at the vet for a checkup.

Which is why it surprised Damian when Cain dropped down from out of nowhere.

He moved quickly, throwing his book at her. She caught it with one hand, unshaken, but he was already on her, a knife at her throat. She blinked uncaringly at him,

“Oh,” he cleared his throat, attempted for a higher register. “Cassandra.”

“It’s Cain,” she said pleasantly. He scowled. She smiled lightly. “How are you doing, Damian?”

“It’s An-”

She pushed him back. “Damian.”

He shrugged, swallowed. Tugged at his collar. Glanced at the wall. She watched him. She _always_ watched him. He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to act like this, you know.”

“Act like what?” She raised an eye and he rubbed his face. “What am I supposed to do, Cain? Grandfather wanted an assassin. Mother wanted a son. Father wants a daughter. I can only please one person at a time.”

“Please yourself.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “That better not be an innuendo.”

She snorted and stretched. “Sort of. But not really. You should-” She flopped down next to Titus, splaying out long, pale limbs. “-please yourself.” She pet Titus softly. “If it doesn’t make you happy, why do it?”

He settled back down, laying his head on Titus’s side. “Father wants me to.”

“Bruce wants what is best for all of us,” she said. “And sometimes wanting what’s best for a person can make you go about something the wrong way. Give it time.”

“It’s been three years,” he muttered.

“And he’s still processing it,” she said. She reached out and cupped his face. “Damian, you’re a boy. Maybe one day you’ll wake up and be a girl. Maybe one day you’ll wake up and realize that you fluctuate between the two. Or that you feel like nothing at all.” She sighed softly and pulled her hand away. “But the future doesn’t mean much to the present. There will be a day where black men don’t get shot on the street for no good reason and a day where a woman can walk alone at night without needing our help. But those days are in the future and they don’t matter because of what is happening in the present.

“You think that maybe with time you’ll adjust to what Bruce wants but it won’t happen. You have to focus on what makes you feel good in the present.” She stroked Titus’s muzzle for a few seconds, eyes fluttering shut. Her hair slid over her face, inky black.

“You can never be less than what you are so never set yourself up for that. We were cut from the same cloth, you know,” she said quietly. “Assassins turned good so trust me when I say I know what it’s like to want to please someone with change. But if it doesn’t make you comfortable-” She slid up. “-it will be a pain to keep up and in the end, you and the person you are trying so hard to please will only end up hurt. Keep causalities minimal, Damian, and spare yourself.”

She leaned over and kissed the top of his head.

She was the only one besides his mother and maybe Grayson if he was feeling particularly affectionate, he’d ever let do that to him.

Cain was trustworthy in a way that the others weren’t. She didn’t have much to prove. She was quiet and honest.

He liked that about her. Appreciated it. Respected it.

He watched her slid behind the boxes and leave, considering what she had said. Cut from the same cloth.

“Cain!” he called out.

“Yes?” her voice ran back.

“Are you-” He stopped. Paused. Could hear her breathing low several feet away and closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he said instead.

It was none of his business anyway.

* * *

 

“Anya is dead,” Damian proclaimed loudly. “Now remove yourself from my vicinity, Drake, before I stab you with something.”

“Good to have you back, Damian,” Drake said, ruffling up his hair and Damian tried to bite him and missed.

Grayson yelled loudly and wrapped him up in a tight hug. “Oh, I’ve missed your scowl, you fucking devil.”

“That is not a compliment, Grayson.”

“I love you too,” Grayson said, squeezing him.

“Grayson,” Damian hissed and the man released him, grinning wildly. Damian rolled his eyes. “So, you’re okay now?”

“I am fine, yes.” Damian flexed his fingers patiently. “I know who I am. I know what I am. I am Damian Wayne. I am a boy.” He tucked his hands behind himself. “You will all respect that irregardless of your beliefs or I will go to Arkham and reveal your weaknesses to the inmates.”

“Cool,” Todd said through a mouthful of banana mush.

Disgusted, Damian looked away to Father who was pulling on his cowl, ignoring what was happening behind him. “If any of you refer to me by my deadname, I will kill you immediately.”

“Does this mean you’re not coming to girl’s night anymore?” Brown yelled as she jumped onto Grayson’s back. He swore and fumbled back and she snorted, giggling.

“As I am not a girl, I will attend only under the name change of… girl’s and Damian’s night.”

“Awesome!” Brown chirped. She grinned widely at him. “We’re gonna watch ET, okay?” She hopped down from Grayson’s back and swung herself onto the back of Cain’s bike. “BE THERE!” she yelled over the roar. “MY PLACE!”

Damian smiled loosely and nodded, catching Cain’s eye as she spun the bike around towards the exit. She grinned at him, low. Pleased.

He smirked, standing up a little straighter.

He knew who he was.

He was Damian Wayne.

Son of Batman.

**Author's Note:**

> And end! :D
> 
> I'm also up for requests if you got them over at my [tumblr](http://happyk44.tumblr.com) and, like I said in the above note, I've also written a bit of meta on this fic [here](http://happyk44.tumblr.com/post/151420256682/son-of-batman-hk44-batman-all-media-types)., which explains why I wrote certain things the way I did and might explain Bruce's feelings a little better.
> 
> Feel free to consider Cass as trans here or not. I don't know enough about her or her character to feel comfortable with actually confirming it but I wanted to allude to the possibility for a bit of personal fun.


End file.
